


the way our horizons meet

by Lire_Casander



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Character Death, M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 15:09:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18574003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lire_Casander/pseuds/Lire_Casander
Summary: Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails~ 1 Corinthians 13:4-8





	the way our horizons meet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aliencowboyswagger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliencowboyswagger/gifts).



> Title taken from Ed Sheeran’s _All Of The Stars_ and summary taken from _1 Corinthians 13:4-8_. I do not own the characters nor the lyrics or the Bible references.
> 
> I'd like to shout out a great thanks to beautiful [Shenanigans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shenanigans) for her help with some issues in this, and her endless faith in my works. Any remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> [aliencowboyswagger](https://aliencowboyswagger.tumblr.com) asked in [this post in tumblr](https://aliencowboyswagger.tumblr.com/post/184249722478/hello-lovely-writers-of-the-fandom-can-someone) for the following: _Can someone write a fic about Michael’s mama putting him in his pod, her waking up panicked on earth, and then maybe her thoughts on seeing her baby all grown up in the prison…?_. While I can relate to the loving of pain and suffering, I in no shape or form believe I am a better writer than the rest of you – average, I may say. I’ve tried my hand at this anyway. I hope you all enjoy this.
> 
>  **Warnings: Angst. Mentions of character’s death. Mentions of abuse and torture.** Please let me know if I should warn for anything else, but I think I have it all covered.

**one. undefined past. antar**

_Just stay put, would you?_ she projects while grasping her son’s arm to keep him in place, in an attempt to dress him properly where his shirt has fallen off his shoulder. _What have I told you about running around? You have to behave._

He smiles back up at her, toothless and happy. She can’t help the soft look in her eyes as she reaches out and tucks a stray dark curl behind his ear. _Better. Now, what do you say you go play with your friends while we finish up here? Just don’t go too far. We will be leaving soon._

She watches as he flees to meet the other kids who will be taking part in their expedition – the dark haired boy and the blonde girl – blissfully unaware of who they all are, of what they are leaving behind, of where they are heading. She couldn’t tell him even if she had the courage to do so – they were meant to be innocent and free, and that truth, at such a tender age, would only mean suffering and a burden on their shoulders.

 _There will be plenty of time for him to grow up,_ she tells herself. _Once we land in a new planet, we’ll be able to start anew. They will have a chance. We all will._

When the time comes, she calls for her son and helps him climb into his pod, all light and giddiness. _I can’t go inside with you,_ she explains after he has tried to pull her with him. _I have mine, and I’ll travel right beside you. You will feel me all the time._ She doesn’t know why she lies, because the pods keep time still so the stasis won’t allow them to feel anything, but her son needs reassurance once he is faced with the fact that he is going on an intergalactic journey on his own at just seven.

She kisses the top of his curly head, and gently pushes him into his transport. It is then when she finally focuses her mind on her dying planet, allowing images of destruction and war flood her brain as she tries to find a good memory of the place she used to call home. The violent path her race has followed is finally taking its toll, and the few privileged to be saved are now climbing into their transports – royalty, peasants – and onto a new adventure.

She caresses her son’s pod one last time before taking the hand offered to her. She looks up and her husband and willingly takes his hand up to her lips for a soft kiss. _See you when we land,_ she hears in her mind. _I love you._ Projecting the same feelings in his mind, she braces herself. She walks straight ahead, unafraid but shivering – a whole new universe to discover at her fingertips.

And with that one step forward she is lost in a world of white – no more fears, no more death. Only bliss.

**two. 1947. roswell, new mexico**

When she wakes up, she feels disoriented at first. She doesn’t know where they are, but she is well aware of the pain in her side and the liquid running freely from her temple. Her pod is broken at the seams, the matter keeping it in one piece disintegrating in the thick atmosphere of whatever planet they’re on now.

She crawls out, leaving behind a trail of hot blood as she claws her way through the remnants of what used to be their ship. She can hear distinctly the sound of gunshots – wherever they are, those still sound the same. Freaking over the fact that she doesn’t know what has happened, she doesn’t know where they are, she needs to find her son. He is the only thought that matters right now.

She spots the three pods – whiter than any other in the ship, different and perfect – surprisingly whole. Not for the first time she revels in the knowledge her people have developed, so that those transports meant to hold the most precious treasures of Antar have shielded crashing through a strange atmosphere and into unknown land. The gunshots get closer, so she has to think quick and act even faster.

 _Get them out of here,_ she hears in her mind. Without a doubt that her husband wants the best for those children, she begins pushing the pods further from the ship. It’s a Herculean job, and if she’d known who Hercules was, she might have laughed a bit. But as she is driven by fear and adrenaline, she heads for an escape – she cracks a rocky wall open with the force of her left hand while keeping an eye on the pods. She isn’t sure how much time she has to hide them, just that she must.

So she strains herself, pushing at her own limits to put the three transports into a secure place where no one but her could find them. The sounds are coming at her, feral and dangerous and all shades of frightening. _I will be back,_ she promises. _You won't be here alone for long._

Covering the makeshift entrance with more rocks and some wood, she turns around to fight back. Albeit not a soldier herself, she married one and gave birth to the one destined to be the protector of them all. Fate has always had a way to intertwine itself in her life. Now it’s her turn to disentangle from destiny and begin picking her own fights.

She stands her ground, disarmed and barely dressed, breathing rapidly as she witnesses how the natives take her family one by one – some shot straight to the head, others merely grazed by a bullet. Most of them cuffed and laid in the open. She stretches her hand, charging it with the impulse of self-prevention.

She cries when she’s captured, her husband’s corpse on the dirt. When she realizes, belatedly, that she’s made a promise to her son that she is not going to fulfill.

**three. 1998. earth**

She has a notion for time in the slow degradation her own body into a very humanly elder woman despite her effort to keep her blonde beauty.

Today her routine will be spiked up with a round visit to the big hall upstairs for her weekly tests – check-ups and blood tests and the unoriginal interrogation. She is one of the few who has never uttered a word whilst in the torture chamber beside the medical room, even when she’s had her head in a sink full to the brim, forced down until she choked, gasping desperately for air whenever she was allowed out of the sink.

The number they put on her to break her almost worked once, when she caught a glimpse of the one marked as Subject N-38, stumbling his way downstairs as he was dragged by a thread of hair by a human dressed so funnily she would have laughed hadn't it been for the sheer fright and pain in his bewildered eyes.

That was the first time she realized the reason why they were enduring that strife – because humans fear what they cannot understand. They _kill_ what they cannot control.

She cracked a bit then, thinking about a death that might be quick if she so much as whispered some kind of information that could be useful to them. Maybe they could end her misery.

But she never spoke. She couldn't afford the downfall of weakness.

She couldn't risk the monsters knowing her big secret – she couldn’t let them find out she tried to salvage the heritage of their world in what looked like some old abandoned human mines.

In that prison where she has stayed for so long she has given up on counting, the rest of her family, the rest of her _race_ , has been too tired, too battered to even try communication. She has learned the language; she has never used it.

She hears one of the female humans who are in charge of them today explaining that whenever she ends her shift she has to rush home for her son’s birthday party. The memories that those words bring back to her are smashing her heart in tiny pieces, like the clear glass keeping her from her freedom.

When her door opens and she is dragged outside for her routine of twisting, nagging and pulling, a jolt courses through her with an unknown force. From the howls coming from the rest of the cells – from _everyone_ who is not from Earth – she knows that it is related to Antar.

All of a sudden she feels a rush of freedom, a breeze of fresh air, fear and giddiness. And then she knows, just like she has known all along, that he would be alright.

 _They are alive,_ she projects. _All hail the king and queen._

 _Long live the protector to keep them from harm,_ she gets as a reply.

She can die now with the awareness that her son is alive, free and safe. 

**four. 2018. caulfield prison**

She hears the ruckus outside her cell, but at first she can’t make herself get up from her bunk. There are human words spoken seeping through the glass, something drawing her to them, calling her with a melody she never thought she would enjoy again.

The voices come closer, calling at her even if they have not yet spoken her name. One man approaches the cell and she can’t believe her eyes.

She would have recognized those curls – those beautiful deep eyes – anywhere.

He’s screaming nonsense to the one accompanying him before they all hear footsteps and he’s shoved into a free space by her own cell. Her insides churn – he surely hasn’t come this far to be cut up and studied and prodded and tortured.

But then he’s back in front of her, asking questions she can’t answer because she is too elated to even try a word in the language he so amazingly speaks. And he’s trying to unlock the door, prying it open with his powers, only to crack a line in the glass and let the alarm loose.

She knows they don't have much time, there is no way he can take her out alive. She doesn’t want to be saved. She has lived her life trying to protect him and it crushes her heart to realize he doesn’t really know the real extent of his existence.

He is projecting fear and distress, a feeling of abandonment that reeks of trauma and hurt. She wishes she could kiss those emotions away and turn them into the old happiness she was able to infuse in him so many years ago.

The noise increases as his soul yells at her, but he stops crying out when another man enters the hall, calling his name – which she finds oddly accurate, given his birthright – and making him come to a halt.

She can’t really make out the words they exchange, the glass too thick despite the crack, but she doesn’t need to. She’s feeling him wanting to remain in the hall when it all explodes, and she can’t let him, not when she has found out he is alive and well and _loved_ , although for some strange reason he refuses to acknowledge it.

So she calls his attention, trying to convey all she is feeling in one touch, physic and power laced in fingers trapped through a glass.

 _I love you,_ she projects. _I love you so much, my son. You are loved. You are cherished, in our world and in this one. You have to live. Run, my dear. Run._

She watches as he pulls away, stumbling upon the man at his back, whispering words she cannot fathom. He risks a glance back at her, and she tries her best to shower him with the approval he needs to leave her behind, an old cracked shell. And when he finally does, she accepts her destiny and allows the flames to engulf the body she’s worn for over seventy years.

**five. undefined future. the universe**

She’s no longer made of matter. She flies freely into the space, soul soaring among the stars.

She didn't die after leaving her shell of a body during the explosion. She never thought it could be possible, but she is still alive although it is a different kind of life. One that's made of stardust and brightness – one where bodies and limbs are replaced by feelings and light.

Comets shine beside her, their trails leaving traces of sparks that light up the night sky full of stars. She doesn’t know how long she is left adrift between the stars, drinking up from their energy until she feels sated.

She floats around with boneless energy, purposeless, until she feels once again a thunder inside of her soul – a force pulling her down to a different place. When she stops her flight, she doesn’t recognize her surroundings, green and blue and white and black laced together in a cabin that seems taken out of a fairytale the humans used to read to their children.

She is alone, left to wander around until she hears an engine taking a car near the construction. She doesn’t need to turn around to know who is coming – she can already feel _them_ in her shapeless form.

The car enters her vision field, driven by the human she once met outside her cell holding to her son for dear life. Her son seems to be riding in the back, a bundle in his arms as he steps out into the green of the landscape.

The human kills the engine and sets foot on the grass, surrounding the vehicle and helping her son as well as taking some bags from the trunk. Her son is smiling a true, open smile – similar to the last one he gifted her on their last encounter.

Both of them share an intimate look before hunching over the bundle. Her curiosity takes the best of her and she flies next to them, drenching in the blue and white of their demeanor. What she sees takes away a breath she is not sure of ever holding again.

A baby rests on her son’s arm, adding pink and yellow to their newly found painting.

And her son is still grinning happily, brushing fingertips gently over cherry skin.

 _Mara,_ she feels rather than hears, although he is speaking softly, using his human words, gracing them with a reverence she revels in. _You are already home, my baby._

Just like that, she feels a pull that triggers her, rushing her towards the infinite. She closes her eyes made of stars for a brief moment, and when she opens them again she is no longer staring down at the man she used to call her son.

She is looking up, grabby hands and chubby cheeks. Whole again, embodied into his life once and for all, just like it has been written in their fate. He tickles her, and she laughs.

Her eyes will be forever etched in stars.


End file.
